


The Reluctant Cougar

by Wolfscub



Category: Loki Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Cougar - Freeform, Curvy Girl, D/s, Discipline, Dom/sub, Dominant Loki, Erotica, F/M, Kinda Rapey?, Mild Angst, Spanking, Unmitigated Unrelenting Unadulterated Crap, You've been warned, dubcon, smutty smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:32:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4453124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfscub/pseuds/Wolfscub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki takes a fancy to a non-skinny older woman who - he has it on good authority - shares his particular . . . interests.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW!
> 
> Mature audiences only!!
> 
> **I am not trying to troll for compliments - quite the contrary. I am merely stating my opinion of my own work (read: venting a bit). Please do not feel the need to bolster my already considerable ego. I know that some small amount of my stuff approaches being reasonably well-written, but this is distinctly NOT that.**
> 
> CAUTION: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!
> 
> This is probably the shittiest thing I've ever written in my life. I've written grocery lists that are better than this. I've scrawled barely intelligible, incoherent, drunken notes on cocktail napkins in crowded bars while several sheets to the wind that are eons better than this. 
> 
> And it's not even some blessedly short drabble - it's three fucking chapters, each worse than the one before! 
> 
> It's all over the place - something's missing.
> 
> Intelligent, insightful, evocative prose. _That's_ what's missing.
> 
>    
> I am thoroughly embarrassed to admit that I've written this at all . . .  
>    
> . . . .  
>    
> . . . .  
>    
> . . . That having been said, you'll notice that I'm inflicting it on you all _anyway_ , so make of that what you will.  
>    
> Ah well. It will join the growing list of those stories I have posted that I will _never, ever_ read again.  
>     
> Dominant Loki, Dubcon, Kinda non-con?, Somewhat Rapey?, Curvy Girl, Age Difference, Spanking, Discipline, D/s, Erotica, Umitigated, unadulterated, unrelenting crap, You've been warned  
> 

"Good evening, Mistress Thorn."

If she had all of the guesses in the world she would never have come up with who had just knocked quite forcefully at her door.

Because she didn't _want_ to come up with _him_.

She didn't let herself contemplate the possibility, until she absolutely had to.

She curtsied prettily, but did not immediately offer him entry, her heart fluttering in an unruly manner in her chest as she looked at him, then lodging firmly - uncomfortably - in her throat, and no manner of silent chastisement would entice it to slow its quickened pace nor return to its proper place.

"Prince Loki," she said, alarmed at the blatantly breathless note in her voice, "to what do I owe the honor of this visit?" 

He knew she already had a good idea as to why he was here, but she still looked quite shy and hesitant and innocent, which he found quite delightful, since those were not traits he usually associated with her. She was much too self-assured for that - every other time he'd seen her - except, perhaps, for that one other time . . .

The one that bedeviled him every night with highly improper, indecently impure thoughts of her.

The one that was the spur that had brought him here.

Remembering the information that he had gleaned from his brother, Loki took a step forward, and, for the slightest of seconds, he was quite sure that she was going to close the door in his face and bar it against him - which would not only have been insulting but also useless in the face of his abilities.

But then she thought better of it, which he counted as a small victory, stepping back - although not a lot - to allow him in. His first stride was so big that, if she hadn't moved at all, she might well have ended up falling unprettily onto her behind, and that wouldn't have done, either.

She had a feeling - from his surprisingly formidable expression - that she should not allow herself to be shown at any more of a disadvantage in front of him than she already had, and she was already at a deficit, considering the hour. She was dressed for bed, a worn through in places light robe thrown over an even more threadbare nightgown.

Given the state of her pitiful covering, she might as well have been naked before him.

Again.

His whole demeanor was distinctly predatory. And had he grown several inches taller and broader in the past week since she'd last . . . 

. . . _seen_ him?

Seen entirely too much of him, and allowed him to see too much of her?

He seemed - she didn't quite know how to put it in her mind. Taller? Broader? Older, somehow? But how, in such a short time?

He looked . . . he looked like a man.

She had always seen him - even as he had come into adulthood - as "little Prince Loki", having already been nearly old enough to have born him herself when he arrived in the royal household as an infant. Well, perhaps not quite at only twelve, but still, having been raised around older women, she had adopted their almost maternal attitude towards him.

But there was no trace of the boy he had been to her - until that fantasy had come to an shockingly abrupt end last week - standing before her. He was a man - young, granted - but he _was_ undoubtedly, _unapologetically_ male.

There was no denying that now, just as there hadn't been then - the evidence was - once again - frightfully overt.

And there was nothing she could do to stop the fact that everything female in her naturally responded to both the physical and psychological manifestations of that undisguised masculinity - no matter her age. 

Or, in fact, perhaps because of it - because she still remembered - most acutely - what it was like to be touched by a man, to be held tight in his arms - to be desperately wanted and needed and to feel those things in return - to be taken - hard and fast and with no reservations, both parties certain - because of long acquaintance and a deep love and lust for each other - of an enthusiastic reception.

She was so lost in thought that she hadn't really been watching him - or at least not with eyes that were really seeing what he was doing. After a short pause, during which his eyes had roved hungrily up and down every inch of her, Loki turned away from her to close the door he'd just come through. The stark sound of him clicking the lock into place startled her out of her reverie, making her take several steps backwards before he got the chance to intimidate her into it, ending up further into the small cottage - although she wasn't really sure whether that was the best defensive move, either. 

There was just the one room, and she was hyper-aware that her bed wasn't far behind her.

When he faced her again, leaning on hands that were behind him, his back against the door, Loki watched her as avidly as she moved away from him. 

His eyes made a quick sweep of the modest house. It was small but very tidy, with touches of bright color everywhere in the hand-made art on the walls - most of which he knew she had painted herself - fresh flowers on nearly every tabletop that lent a sweet scent to the air and colorful and inviting pillows on the one small couch, as well as the bed that was behind her.

But the owner of the pretty home seemed desperate to avoid any kind of contact with him, even to the point of keeping her eyes on the floor. He'd never seen her like this - she'd always been the smiling, somewhat brash, teasing type, as she was with everyone, scrupulously respectful of his position, but not particularly deferential, likely to needle him a bit to get him to smile, and she nearly always succeeded.

He hadn't expected to encounter this side of her, although he'd seen some hints of it recently. 

"Vahnya, look at me." He'd always had a deep, commanding voice, but generally didn't use it with the fairer sex. He kept his order firmly gentle, he hoped. She looked almost frightened of him, and that wasn't - necessarily - what he was going for.

His use of her given name had a profound effect on her, and she found it damned near impossible not to do as he asked, her eyes travelling slowly up his impressive length to meet his, then dart away, as if, in doing so, she suddenly saw reason and knew she had to look away or be lost.

One slim finger, laid with great care along her jaw, convinced her wordlessly that she had no choice but to obey him.

"Do _not_ look away from me again until you are given permission to do so, my darling little hummingbird."

No threats, no promises.

Just that carefully enunciated, softly issued command.

Her eyes - however tentatively - came to rest on his.

Loki allowed himself a small smile, hoping it would put her more at ease. "You need not fear me, Vahnya, as long as you obey me."

As he spoke, he watched her carefully, seeing her eye widen, those white teeth worrying her lower lip, her breath quickening.

"You see, I have recently come to hear something quite interesting about you, something I find very intriguing indeed, that I wish you to confirm for me."

A horrified vision of what that might be flashed through her brain, causing a bit of a panic, but Vahnya forced herself to stop letting that idea run rampant through her mind. It might not be that, after all. She should hear him out before she fainted, because, if it was what she was thinking of, then that was definitely what she planned to do.

But she had a horrible feeling she already knew what he was going to say. Knew it in the pit of her stomach, an organ that was already cramping and twisting and roiling in response to her nervousness in just being alone with him like this - forget what it was that he was probably going to say to her!

"I have heard from a relatively reliable source that your relationship with your husband was a bit . . . unusual. That it was, perhaps, contained elements and activities that were not . . . the norm, shall we say?" She looked like a small animal who was ready to gnaw her limb off rather than remain caught in a trap. "Not that there was anything wrong with those activities in the least," he hastened to add, hoping to ease her mind a bit. He didn't want her to think that some of the very reasons he was here were things he objected to. "Some of us find just the idea of that type of relationship to be quite . . . titillating."

On impulse, Loki reached around behind her to gather a hunk of that coppery gold mass of waves that reached nearly to the backs of her calves, and that his fingers had been itching to touch, collecting as much of them in his hand as he could to hold them at the back of her head, quite careful not to pull it at all, just using it to control her a bit and eagerly watching her reactions to how he was behaving.

They were quite revealing.

"Tell me, Vahnya," he bent down at bit to whispered roughly into her ear, "were you a good and _submissive_ wife to your husband? Did you let him discipline you when you had disobeyed him? Did he _spank_ that beautiful bottom of yours 'til you couldn't sit down comfortably?"

Loki heard her sharply indrawn breath at his outrageous words, releasing his hold on her hair and taking a small step back so that he could see her eyes, which left his for the floor immediately.

Almost too quietly, and with obvious regret, "What did I tell you about meeting my eyes, little flower? I'm afraid your disobedience has earned you your first spanking - from me."

Was that a small sob he heard as she nonetheless did as she was told?

Those lovely cheeks were bright red, eyes slightly wet, but there were no tears to be seen. She chewed her lip, then opened her mouth as if she was going to say something. 

It was then that he had a flash of intuition that caused him to take a step nearer to her, crushing her against him, his hand once again in the hair at her nape, this time more forcefully, requiring her to arch her neck awkwardly to maintain the eye contact he required. "And, before you answer me, I think it only fair to caution you that you will _not_ like the consequences if I catch you lying to me - now or in future." He smiled warmly, in contrast to his words and the way he was holding her. "Being the God of Lies has its advantages - I can almost always tell when someone is fibbing to me, or even just getting mentally ready to, as you were just doing."

Damn, how had he known?!

His hand gentled in her hair, unwinding from it to brush it back from her face, luxuriating in the feel of it, he reminded firmly, "Answer me, Vahnya. You're already in trouble. You don't want to compound your misbehavior."

"Please, Your Highness -"

"Loki."

"L-Loki." She swallowed hard. "I would ask that you allow my private life with my husband - whom I loved very dearly - to remain as such."

Vahnya watched his jaw clench, knowing she had displeased him with her answer. But then he surprised her by saying, "I apologize if I overstepped, Vahnya. Allow me to rephrase my question." One big booted found its way between hers bare ones, hampered a bit by her gown until it gave way, with more than enough impetus to press his thigh against her as he held her still for that relatively small encroachment upon her person.

He was so much taller than she was that she was very nearly forced to balance on that big, muscular leg, her essentially bare privates forced to split open around it, rhythmically pressing against nearly every inch of her womanhood - the material of her night clothes providing no protection whatsoever from his bold, intimate caress.

"So tell me, lovely one, does the idea of being submissive to me intrigue you?"

He stepped up the pace of that thigh, a steadying, possessive hand at the small of her back quietly preventing her from avoiding what he was doing to her - to move herself off of or away from all of that stimulation.

And he knew she was responding to him - to everything he was doing and saying to her, in obvious and not so obvious ways. He could feel the heat and wetness of her dampening the material of his pants, could smell the bouquet of her passion as it rose within her, those luscious breasts rising and falling erratically with the rapid force of her breathing, and every one of her responses touched off corresponding ones within him.

Despite the need for her that was raging within him, his lips met her forehead in an almost paternal kiss that was in stark contrast to his bold presence between her legs. 

"Does it thrill you, my dear, in any . . ." He jerked his leg up suddenly, sharply, catching his boot on the bottom run of the stool she kept handy near the small kitchen, his hands keeping her balanced as she wobbled, all of her weight on her privates compounding the deep hunger he had ignited so easily within her, nearly succeeding in wrestling a moan from her. "Way?" he continued asking, using the hands that had settled possessively at her hips to rock her forward and back, nearly losing control of himself at the way she threw her head back on a languid sigh, "At all?" he asked, almost so softly she missed it, as the fingers of one hand trailed over the swells of her breasts, catching the crests of diamond hard nipples as they did so.

He knew it did, the bastard! she thought as she could feel her face flushing with embarrassment at the response she found herself helpless to control.

"No - Loki -- please - . . . "

"'No Loki please' what?" he asked, his words wafting to her ears as he decorated her neck with barely there kisses, that free hand moving up to slip the robe off her shoulders.

Vahnya made a futile grab at it, but it was so light it had already draped itself over his leg by the time her lust-muddled reflexes realized what he was about, almost falling off for her efforts, which, except for the possibility of injury, might not have been a bad result.

Instead, she found herself helplessly splayed around that hard plank of a thigh, steadied only by those big hands holding her with highly improper familiarity, her own movements having just added to her own misery.

She had to marshal her defenses against him. She _had_ to!

Didn't she?

This was preposterous! He couldn't possibly want her - she was too old and too round and too . . . everything!

Hands that had remained surprisingly limp at her sides came up to grip his shoulders, but touching him turned out to be a very, very bad idea.

He was warm and strong beneath her palms, those bulging, youthful muscles much too apparent, even beneath his light armor.

But she continued to try to do what she felt she must.

"Loki, please, stop -"

And he did.

And that was almost worse. The agonizing ache he had created within her - with relatively little effort - refused to die down with the absence of stimulation - in fact, it worsened considerably, very nearly consuming her with its demand for more.

"All you had to do was say so, Vahnya."

Especially when he slid her - ever so deliberately and carefully - from her perch, dragging her most sensitive parts over the entire long length of his thigh, continuing to hold onto her until she was steady on her feet, even bending over to fetch the robe where it had dropped to the floor and tucking her back into it as if she was a precious child, cinching its belt and all.

She couldn't detect even the slightest hint of anger or annoyance from him. In fact, when he was finished dressing her again, he graced her with a smile she couldn't see as anything but genuine, and bent to kiss her forehead again.

"I hope I have not irreparably damaged our friendship by my forwardness." He seemed very earnest.

"No, of course not."

He executed a small bow that made her feel much more uncomfortable than the liberties he had taken with her had. "Thank you. You are as truly gracious as you are truly  
exquisite."

As the heat in her face rose several notches at his facile compliments, Loki executed a perfect about face, taking several steps towards the door, then stopping to turn back to her, one arm across his chest, balancing his elbow on it, while the fingers of his other hand tapped his lips pensively. "I - I do not wish to be obstructionist in any way, but there is a matter I feel needs to be addressed before I can take my leave of you with good conscience."

"What is that, Your Hi -?" She stopped mid-word at his look and corrected herself quickly. "Loki?"

"Well," he said, slowly making his way back to her. "I do like to be considered a man of my word. If I say I am going to do something, I like to do it. Consistency is very important."

She found herself - foolishly, she should have known - nodding in agreement, the thought flashing in her mind that 

"It is the correct way to be, do you not agree? If - at some point in the distant future - I should become King, I should not want to be known as someone who does not follow through with what he has said he was going to do."

Beginning to feel a bit wary, Vahnya said, "Yes, I suppose so . . ." with more reluctance than she had had while nodding, sensing a trap of some sort.

Loki managed to look at her a bit abashed, almost embarrassed to say what he was going to say, but he did so anyway.

_Of course._

"Well, I do hesitate to bring it up, but I did say I was going to spank you for disobeying me, did I not?"

"Oh, dear God." The words left her mouth without her knowledge or consent.

But they prompted him to show her that smirk she was more familiar with. "You need not start praying to me now. I promise you shall have more than enough reason to begin doing that during your punishment."

He came to stand next to her kitchen/dining/sewing/eating table, hefting it a bit as if to test its sturdiness.

She could have told him that her husband - Lev - had built it to be very sturdy indeed, and that that particular characteristic had been tested by them on several memorable occasions, but she wasn't about to say anything like that to him.

Apparently it passed his inspection, because he turned to her and extended his hand, palm up, neither saying nor doing anything else, letting the silent command speak for itself.

And she knew exactly what the import of that exact action was - in fact, his stance and demeanor was uncomfortably familiar. Her husband had stood there just like that when she knew he was going to punish her and had even held his hand out like that to her. And she had come to him immediately - although not without an obvious reluctance that he understood but didn't allow to get in the way of him doing what he thought was best for her.

But this situation was not that. Her husband had loved her - she had never been given cause to doubt that.

The same could not be said for Prince Loki.

He would always be that in her head - Prince Loki.

Regardless of her acquaintance with his mother - the fact that she supplied the queen with scented soaps and perfumes - would not save her from who he was - what he was - or what he could do to her on a whim. She was acutely aware that she was defenseless against him, even if he never used magic on her. She had had occasion, within the past week or so, to personally experience his strength.

There was nothing she could see to do but acquiesce as gracefully as she could, and hope that nothing came of this besides her own embarrassment. She had managed not to confirm or deny his suspicions about her private . . . interests, so as long as she could get through this without arousing him - or his curiosity - further . . . 

Vahnya forced herself to take a step towards him, his face softening as she obeyed him, not quite smiling but looking very pleased.

At first, she only allowed her fingertips to touch his, but he leaned ever so slightly towards her to capture her hand completely - as if he worried that she might change her mind - and pull her the rest of the way to him.

As he continued to look down at her, he waved his arm over the table, and everything on it disappeared.

She started, alarmed at the loss of her few precious things - especially the vase that her husband had made for her.

Seeing her concern and feeling her stiffen against him, Loki reassured, "All will be as it was before I leave, I promise." 

Trying to swallow on a suddenly arid throat, appalled that she was already very close to tears, Vahnya croaked, "Thank you."

"Shall we dispense with this?" he asked, untying the knot he had just made in the belt of her robe and giving her a half smile. "It will just get in the way, I think."

She didn't really reply to him, nor did she make any other objection too him divesting her of her robe for the second time that evening.

When he had folded it carefully and put it on the arm of the couch, he turned back to her. "Stretch yourself out over the table and take hold of the far edge, little one," he encouraged gently, positioning her in front of the table, the height of which had been specifically cut to hit her just an inch or two above the bend of her waist, so that she really had to _stretch_ for the edge, and, in doing so, lifting herself up onto her tiptoes in order to maintain contact with the floor.

And - unfortunately for her - making her nightgown ride up into obscene territory, she remembered as she felt a sudden waft of cool air on her bare behind. Vahnya automatically reached back to pull the material down, but found her hand captured instead and folded high up on her back as the man beside her - who was most distinctly not her husband - lifted the edge of her nightie even higher, so that she was completely exposed to him.

"Did I give you permission to let go, my dear?" he asked pointedly, lacing his fingers with hers where he had her hand trapped.

Somehow she didn't dare _not_ answer him. "N - no . . . "

She received, for her effort, a flurry of sharp, staccato swats that were an eye-opening, thoroughly alarming preview of what she knew was coming next. Vahn was almost in tears by the time he left off, and he'd given her less than ten smacks, finally releasing her hand, which she immediately put back where she knew he wanted it.

Loki was having all he could do to keep himself under control. She was unbelievably gorgeous to him - that proud head up, the rest of her all full, rounded curves, trying to cringe her ample target away from the descent of his hand, pretty thighs, cute feet undoubtedly wanting to kick up but not wanting to give up what little purchase she had being up on her toes like that, and a now somewhat pinkened bottom that made him want to forego his purpose here completely in favor of squeezing and kissing and delving into the secrets of her own feminine grotto.

But he steeled himself against that urge.

There would be time for that later if he played this right.

And he fully intended to.

She wasn't going to get away from him again, like she had last week.


	2. Chapter 2

The grotto was nicely secluded. Her husband, who had grown up in this part of Asgard, had shown her where it was, and they had used it as their own, very private, swimming - and other things - pool. The water was so crystal clear that you could see all the way to the bottom of the shallow perimeter, and even quite far down the very deep middle. There were flat shelves of rock to sit on in the shallows, as well as platforms higher up from which to jump into the much deeper area in the center, which was one of her husband's favorite things to do. There was even a rope swing to drop from, left over from when he had been part of a pack of youths that ran half wild in the summers, when they were free from the confines of the schoolroom.

The two of them would often bring picnic suppers down here - meager fare, but that wasn't much of a concern. As long as they were together, wherever they were was Paradise, and this was pretty close to it, especially on a hot summer evening.

She hadn't skinny dipped since she'd lost him to the fever that had run rampant through their tiny village. He'd gotten it after it had hit everywhere else due to their isolation, but it was so virulent that it had taken him from hail and hearty to death's door in a matter of only a day or so, somehow leaving her unscathed but devastated in its aftermath.

That had been years ago, though - so many that sometimes she was horrified to realize that she could no longer call his beloved face to her mind, nor remember much of how he sounded.

She was content with her life as a widow, fulfilled in . . . other ways from when they had been together.

It had been dreadfully hot lately, and she had forgotten how long the walk was to it, so she arrived there all hot and sticky, and the water had looked so inviting that she had decided to throw caution to the wind and leave her bathing clothes on the shore. There were still no real paths to this place, and absolutely no evidence that anyone else ever came here. In their years together, no one else had ever appeared there while they were using it, so she figured it was safe, tamping down her the rampant modesty she felt about her body that most people - who found her teasing comments sometimes brash and off color - would be surprised to know she felt at all.

Despite how hot she was, though, it took her a while to convince herself that she should go in; the water was so cold. But eventually she took the plunge, surface diving to get herself completely wet, swimming out into the middle of the pool to lie on her back, kept away from the thirty foot falls by the churning of the water beneath it.

She had no idea she was being watched, and that was the way Loki wanted to keep it, for the time being. He had stumbled on this place a few years ago, and had carefully masked any signs of its use, so as to keep it to himself.

But this kind of intrusion he could hardly be unhappy about. 

Just as he was about to dive in from a spot almost directly opposite her, he had caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye and blended back into the foliage surrounding the little oasis in order to watch for who it was to decide whether or not he wanted to throw his weight around a little as the Royal Prince that he was in order to maintain the privacy of this lovely little spot.

He knew her, of course. Not all that well, but he remembered they'd been introduced a time or two and he had often seen her around the village and even in one or two of the bars occasionally - with her husband, always chatting and smiling about town, laughing at herself and getting others to laugh with her, throwing out a bawdy, spot-on comment here or there, her wit quick, such that she gave as good as she got. He knew she knew his mother, and that she made something that the Queen prized, but he couldn't remember what it was, not that it mattered.

She was older than he was, but not as old as Mother, and a bit more ample than he usually leaned to, but, as she began to divest herself of her clothes and he started to circle around to the sandy beach-like area where she had entered the water with delightful slowness, he realized she was in perfect proportion for her size, and there was no denying his body's response to her.

Vahnya. Vahnya Thorn was her name.

A widow, if he remembered correctly.

And he did.

She'd been without a husband for quite some time, he thought. He'd have to query his mother about whether or not there was someone else in her life.

The thought startled him into revealing himself as she tread water not too far out. Why should he care if she had someone else? She would either be willing or not. It wasn't as if he intended to spend his life with her. Mutually gratifying lovemaking, yes. But a lifelong commitment? 

No.

That was just ridiculous.

Even without him hiding behind magic, it took her while to notice him, which was something he wasn't all that happy about, but she seemed lost in her own thoughts until he was standing naked on the shore, his clothes piled neatly next to hers.

He could actually feel it when her eyes finally lit on him, his eyes - and the rest of him - rising to watch her commotion when she realized she was naked and not alone as she'd thought, allowing himself a small smile when she crossed her arms over her breasts, not thinking that the water was so clear that he could clearly see the thatch of reddish gold below the water that she had neglected to protect from his prying eyes.

"Prince Loki," she murmured, but the soft words were easily carried across the water.

"Mistress Thorn," he returned slyly, inclining his head to her as he dipped his toes into the water and drew his foot back quickly at just how frigid it was, drawing a tinkling laugh from her. "You are quite the hearty sort to brave the cold." He forced himself not to retreat again, standing ankle deep, then calf deep - diving under before the shelf gave out and his next step would drop him into the abyss anyway, making his way to her with quick, strong strokes.

Despite her laugh, Vahnya was dismayed to realize just how trapped she was. What an idiot she had been to swim alone like this, having made herself even more defenseless by doing so nude! She swam a bit, but he was a natural athlete and had obviously had lessons. 

What would she do if he made advances?

Then she remembered the reasons why that was such a ridiculous concern. The obvious desire she'd seen him sporting before he'd entered the water would have completely abated just on temperature alone, and she most surely wasn't the cause of it anyway. She was practically old enough to be his mother! She was worrying about nothing. He'd come for a swim and he was going to have one, regardless of who he'd found in the pool.

"I didn't think anyone else knew about this place," she said as casually as she could manage, considering the circumstances, and the fact that she happened to glance down and see that she was very wrong about one thing in particular - one long, hard thing that didn't seem to have acknowledged the arctic temperature it was submerged in in the least.

Knowing his avid stare was making him nervous, he gazed deliberately around the place. "I tend to prefer my own company, and I found it while I was wandering around in the forest on my own a few years ago. It's very beautiful and secluded and relaxing." His gaze came to rest on her once again. He couldn't help it. He found her shyness and modesty - neither of which would he have expected from her based on what he knew of her - "It's almost as beautiful as you are."

Her blush was quite becoming, and he could plainly see that it extended beyond her neck.

"Prince - "

"Loki, please. And I believe your given name is Vahnya?"

"Yes." She was amazed - and unaccountably pleased - that he knew that, for some reason. "You're very kind. But I've been here for a while, and I have no wish to intrude on your solitude." Vahn began to swim for the shore in her own clumsy, haphazard way.

Not looking where she was going through the wall of water she splashed up around her, she swam right into him. They were still in deep water, and he reached out to steady her as she brushed the water - and stray hair that had eluded her ribbon - from her face. "I'm very sorry - I didn't see you there."

Loki chuckled. "I'm not surprised."

She colored again enchantingly. "I never learned how to swim properly. My husband always threatened to teach me, but he never got around to it."

"I would be glad to teach you, if you'd like."

He looked serious! That would involve - his hands on her - she was pretty sure - and just the thought of that made her breath catch, sent her mind spinning like it hadn't been in a very long time . . . so much so that she simply allowed herself to sink rather than let him see just how flustered - and red - she had gotten, hoping the cold water might resolve that situation in her favor.

Unfortunately, that seemed to make him think that she was beginning to drown, and he reached out to lift her up into his arms, keeping her head out of the water, leaving her lying there, naked in his arms as he brought them both closer to shore.

"Put me down, please." Respectful, but firm.

Luckily, he reacted immediately - automatically - as if his Mother had made the request, which was what she had been counting on - and did exactly as she asked. Vahnya was grateful to find that he had carried her far enough in that she could get and keep her feet beneath her, which she did, thankful for the sure footing.

When she got as far in towards shore a she could without losing the dubious cover of the water, which made her feel unnaturally protected for some reason, and hunched over herself, so as little of her as possible - was showing - not because she was worried about arousing his interest - despite what she'd seen beneath the water - but to save her own face, which she was sure was going to go up in flames at any moment.

She fixed him - where he was just at the edge of the underwater shelf - with what she hoped was a matriarchal stare and said sternly, "Turn around, please, Loki."

To her abject horror, it did not work a second time.

Instead, he began to come towards her, and all she could so was huddle more closely in around herself, knowing some of her was hanging out in places it shouldn't, certainly she looked unsightly enough to discourage him from doing anything he oughtn't.

But, as he rose from the water, he _rose from the water_. All impressive nine odd inches of him, and she had to drag her gaze away from him as he came to stand in front of her.

"Loki, turn around," she ground out again.

"Why?" he seemed genuinely puzzled by her request.

"Because it is the gentlemanly thing to do."

A smile slashed across his face. "But I have no interest in being a gentleman. I am the God of Mischief. And I want to see more of you - naked or otherwise." His grin deepened. "But preferrably naked."

"Loki -"

Before she knew it, he was standing in front of her in all of his considerable glory, reaching down to cup her chin and giving her no choice but to stand up or have her head come off in his hand.

And then he was kissing her. Not tentatively. Not gently. And definitely not the way she thought someone of his tender years should kiss someone who had been married since she was just about his age.

It took all of her strength - physically and of will - to push herself away from him, and, in the end, she knew that, if he hadn't allowed her to disengage from him, she wouldn't have been able to.

It was a sobering thought.

"Do you not enjoy kissing me, Vahnya?" he asked, puzzled again at her behavior.

The back of her hand came up to her mouth, pressing hard against it as if she could erase the fact that she had fought to get away from him more because she thought she ought to than she had wanted to.

With that jarring realization bouncing off the walls of her mind, she turned and practically ran to her clothes, hiding behind the thankfully copious nearby foliage to dress quickly and badly, but needing to have that - however useless - layer of clothes at least between them, soon to be distance, too, knowing the entire time that he could take her back into his arms any time he wanted to, and that she wasn't at all sure she would have the strength of character to even put up a token fight against it if he did.

She knew she should have curtseyed or bowed or done something polite as she left the royal presence, but Vahn wasn't about to encourage him in any way, so she began to run - again, in an ungainly manner, just like she swam.

"I _will_ see you again, very soon, Vahnya Thorn."

His promise - his threat - echoed in her ears as she scrambled away from him.

Away from what she wanted at least as much as he did, only she knew she couldn't have it.

There was no hope for it. 

None.

What she'd do if they ever met up again she didn't know. but she didn't like her odds of being allowed to escape him twice.

She could only hope that that _never_ happened.


	3. Chapter 3

But here she was, bent over her own kitchen table - and not for the first time - although she was doing her level best not to remember the previous times - with a princely God standing just to one side of her all too prominent ass.

How in Thor's - Loki's? - whoever's - name did she manage to find herself here? 

The bald truth was that she couldn't see any way of actively fighting him that ended well for her on several levels - the younger prince not having been known for his warmth or patience when he was crossed. The secret, hidden truth was that - despite the age gap - he was making her feel things she hadn't in quite a long time, and her body was only too happy to go along with whatever he intended.

Despite what she thought about him, Loki was at least as surprised as she was to find her positioned so submissively before him, but he wasn't about to let that get in the way of him getting what he wanted. 

And he wanted _her_.

He didn't know quite what it was about her - perhaps it was how different she was from him - usually social and smiling and not at all dour or brooding, as he tended to be.

But, if he was honest with himself - the idea of which didn’t always appeal to him much - it was a combination of her _and_ the unbearably arousing idea of dominating - and punishing - a _woman_. He'd been with girls - he'd even been with several women who were two or three years older than he was and had experimented with dominance and submission before, although he had never truly _disciplined_ any of them. But she was over a decade older, had been married, and apparently had already enjoyed the type of relationship he had always dreamt of having. 

So he intended to take full advantage of this windfall, and intended to extract proof from her about that - one way or the other.

He lay his hand over the slightly warm center of her bottom in silent threat. "Tell me the truth, Vahnya. Did you submit yourself to your husband?"

Vahnya clenched her teeth, keeping her lips smashed almost painfully together over them against reacting any further to anything he said or did. If she could just keep her rampant reactions under control, perhaps he'd lose interest . . . ? If her mouth had been open when his hand had claimed all of that territory on her exposed behind, her breath would have caught audibly, but no sound escaped her.

But his questions - how was she going to answer him?

He'd already warned her about lying to him, so she quickly - but not quickly enough to avoid a heavy swat meant to encourage her to answer him - decided to tell him the truth - although coyly, and as little of it as she thought she could get away with.

"Don't all good wives submit to their husbands?"

She should have known better than to try to play word games with him.

The next smack took her breath away, and each one that followed each word for emphasis, leaving her open mouthed and panting before he was through - his tone effecting her at least as much as his actions.

"Wrong. Answer. Vahnya."

Her husband was a very physical man and swung an axe nearly every day of his life. His spankings - when he meant them to - hurt like a bitch, but she'd never felt anything like what Loki was doing to her, and to her horror, through the pain, he was achieving exactly what she _didn't_ want him to. Vahn could feel her body literally weeping for him at the end that she least expected - least wanted - to moisten at his attentions. She would rather wail like a baby while he was spanking her than leave a dark puddle of her own juices on the pretty rug beneath her feet for any man other than her love.

But there was no way to stop her traitorous body from responding to him - he acted as if this was something he did every day - not that she knew for certain that he didn't. His words were deep and low and scolding, his strokes hard and well-thought out - not in the vein of the light, amateurish flurry some men thought comprised a disciplinary spanking. 

He _must have_ done this before, and Vahn was amazed to find that she felt a bit of a twinge at the thought of with whom he had gained his experience.

She didn't want to answer him, although she knew she was going to have to, and in the interests of saving her hide as much as possible - especially since she knew he hadn't even gotten to the spanking that had supposedly brought her here - Vahnya waited until the last possible moment - until she felt his hand leave her heated flesh to deliver another stroke.

"YES! Yes, all right. Is that what you wanted to know?" She knew she shouldn't have practically spat the last bit at him, but that was how it came out anyway.

And she knew she was going to pay for that cheekiness.

Five more spanks fell before he stopped again, his hand back in what was rapidly becoming his accustomed spot, covering that oh so private cleft that split her cheeks as if he had every right to.

And she was sure he thought he did.

But then he said something she never expected to hear from him. Something with real emotion, almost akin to an apology but not quite that caught her unawares as she was still trying to deal with the fire he had set in her backside, trying desperately not to cry. "Thank you for admitting that to me. I don't think I will ever be able to understand how hard it was for you to do."

Couldn't he just be a complete bastard and stop being nice to her _some_ of the time? It was awfully hard to thoroughly revile him when he rescued her in the pool even though she didn't need it, when he bundled her into her robe as her husband might have, as if he actually cared about her, and now, sounding entirely too grateful to have forcibly pried a bit of embarrassingly personal information from her. It took the edge off her resentment of what he was doing to her just when it was reaching a fever pitch, backing her anger down and allowing her those equally embarrassing passions to rise in its place.

That hand was stroking her bottom now, and it felt too damned good. "Was it something he wanted that you just went along with?"

Damn his insightful questions! She really, really didn't want to answer this one, and clamped her mouth shut against doing so, clenching her body when she felt him lift his hand.

The expected searing of her flesh by his young, strong palm didn't happen.

But what _did_ happen was infinitely, unutterably worse.

She couldn't see him, but rather felt him crouch behind her, his warm breath blowing along the cheeks he had so recently tenderized and onto the sensitive backs of her thighs. Then Vahnya felt that warmed hand on her ankle as he guided her foot so that her instep cradled the outside of the table leg, which caused her to be horribly exposed.

In more ways that one.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" he asked, sounding as if he had struck gold.

And then she remembered what _was_ there - what he had so obviously discovered, and she had forgotten to remove - had, in actuality - forgotten had even existed.

Vahnya had never wanted to die so badly before in her life, and had certainly never cursed her soul mate so soundly in her mind, even when he was alive and doing those few things he did that drove her crazy.

She could feel him fiddling with the leather straps he'd found there, wrapping them around her ankle but not fastening them - at least, not yet.

"You _have_ been in this position before, haven't you? I must admit that that makes me wonder just how many times . . . He made these to keep you in place while he punished you?" They were more statements of fact than questions he was posing to her.

With an audible sigh, Vahn lay her face against the table top, not worrying that she was crushing her nose. That was the least of her concerns at the moment.

"Yes." The word was muffled by the table and barely issued above a whisper, her throat constricted so tightly and painfully that she barely got it out.

As if sensing that something had shifted in her attitude - and not for the good - Loki left off fiddling with that blatant evidence, no matter how much it intrigued him - after having patted her right foot then moved her left one into the same position on the opposite side - and stood, trailing his fingers slowly up her legs as he did so, until one hand came to rest at the small of her back and the other cupped her surely, possessively from behind, not really touching anything specific, just . . . holding her, his cock nearly bursting through his pants at the way she struggled to hold in a groan that betrayed her pleasure at his touch, and failing miserably.

If that was not enough evidence, he discovered immediately something that brought a feral grin to his face - his fingers were already being very thoroughly baptized. "I believe I may have found the answer to what I asked you earlier - whether this was something you merely endured for his sake, or something you actually enjoyed."

As her body betrayed her at every turn, Vahnya sobbed softly, suppressing it as much as she could, hoping that her position would help her keep from alerting him to her tears.

She didn't know what it was that she expected him to do next, but it wasn't what he did. The man was full of surprises. He removed his hand - which answered one prayer - but inspired many others when he began to spank her in earnest.

And he didn't stop at two or three, or seven or eight, or even ten or eleven painful swats.

Instead Loki subjected her to one of the most through, most devastating spankings she'd ever endured. He might have been young, but - to her great misfortune - he was a complete natural at it. And, having already succumbed to tears, Vahnya found it entirely impossible to maintain any kind of control over her emotions, as if a dam had let go somewhere within her - whether because his technique reminded her of Lev's or because she had - she was horrified to admit even to herself - missed this terribly, she didn't really care to know. 

She had given herself over to the feelings he inspired within her, experiencing every nuance of each sensation while she automatically writhed and bucked and kicked and yelled - causing him to step closer to her, boxing her in with a hand on her far hip that held her tight against him, and emboldening him to land vicious swats to the backs of her thighs for nearly kicking him. 

Near the end, she screamed her frustration at him, although nothing she did altered the relentless rhythm he established in the least. 

When he stopped, she had given up fighting him, and allowed him to turn her over, her only protests those of discomfort when her thoroughly spanked butt to touch the unforgiving surface beneath it, using her heels, caught at the edge of it, to lift her scourged parts up away from the source of their irritation.

Loki swept his hand over his body and his clothes disappeared, along with hers, but Vahn was too far gone to be concerned about modesty with him any longer. Tears still creeping out of the corners of her eyes, her head turned towards the living room wall, hands lying folded on her tummy, falling entirely too still for his liking.

At least until he knelt down before her, more than tall enough that her femininity was right at mouth level for him as he pried first one foot, then the other out from under her, forcing her bottom into contact with the polished wood as he draped her legs over his shoulders and, just as she was trying to arch herself up, away from it, she mashed the secret core of herself right into his mouth, which Loki closed ravenously over her, not allowing her to get away from him from that point on - not that her body was going to allow her to run from him any longer now that it had him when it had wanted him to be all along.

The guilt would come later, she knew it in the back of her mind. His youth, and a Prince of the Realm, to boot would head the shameful list of indiscretions she was indulging in at the moment, along with the knowledge that she hadn't fought him off anywhere near as fervently as she should have . . . or really at all, when it came down to it. She was also putting her livelihood in danger because of this. And, not the least of all, she was betraying her beloved - dead or not.

But he was too good - too fucking good at every single element of this - the sexual, the psychological, even the emotional, although that was probably his weakest point - and she found that her usual defenses had were easily obliterated by his sheer, unadulterated enthusiasm and undeniable, natural skill.

Long arms reached up to capture pert nipples, their touch gentle, almost tentative at first, but quickly becoming much less so as they claimed her breasts, jiggling them, slapping them occasionally, stiff fingertips always landing directly atop each nipple, making her gasp with the potent combination of pain and pleasure that exploded within her.

One hand soon left its partner behind, though, to join his eager lips and tongue, two crossed fingers presented at her entrance then driven inexorably into her as he nearly came to the sounds of her high pitched whimpers and the feeling of her soft, wet walls clinging to him.

He hadn't expected her to be quite so tight - she was practically virginal, and he was very nearly undone by it, interrupting his clitoral devotions to lean a bit back to watch his fingers disappear into her, knowing he was having to push much harder to do so than he ever had with an older woman - and indeed some much younger - before.

It took supreme control on his part to continue on the path he'd set rather than simply giving in to the impulse that was foremost in his mind - standing to press himself roughly into her, which was what every fiber of his being wanted him to do.

But he absolutely refused to give in to those baser urges until he had brought her to the greatest heights _first_.

As he lowered his open mouth to her again, he caught a glimpse of the sight of her, her magnificent body flushed with pleasure, nipples red and raw from his attentions, breasts bobbing as he finger-fucked her harder now, somewhat less than gently introducing a third that he enjoyed watching her struggle to accept. Those pretty hands were everywhere at once searching and grasping and supplicating . . . unable to find the release she sought - that he was deliberately withholding from her.

Because he _could_.

She was a picture he would never forget, in the throes of such indelicate distress.

"Reach above you and grab a hold of the edge of the table again, lovely. Do. _not_. let. go."

After he watched her do as he bade, Vahn felt the warm precursor of his hot, moist breath wafting over parts of her that were so sensitized that that was very nearly all she needed, unable to prevent herself from recklessly arching her hips up as best she could, wordlessly, unashamedly offering herself to him.

Greedy God that he was, he took every bit of her that she offered.

And then some.

Vahnya was certain that there were no words for what he did to her, how he tore her apart and put her back together again, driving her to the edge of sanity - leaving her body clenching helplessly around his fingers, quivering and shivering and making the most unnatural sounds, offering himself as the sanest thing she could cling to before driving her into that oblivion again, and again, and again.

Magic - that was the only answer she could find - no one could have done that to her - to have satisfied her so completely, reducing her to mewling incoherence - without the aid of spells and incantations . . . 

She couldn't countenance the alternative - that he was simply that good at his age!

It was as if he knew exactly what she liked, then amped it up almost beyond her tolerance for pleasure.

It had been so long since she'd been touched - he overwhelmed her with sensation.

Especially once he finally, with obviously severe reluctance, left her - pressing kisses everywhere on her overheated flesh as he did so, lingering as long as he dared before reaching down to press her legs as far back as they would go - then just slightly past that - intending to jam himself into her in a most ungentlemanly fashion.

But even after she'd taken three of his fingers, he was very nearly - physically - too much for her.

Breaching her - much more slowly then he had intended - forced him to concentrate on her, to watch her trying to avoid the unavoidable, panting, whimpering, sighing, her head whipping back and forth, hands still holding onto the table as she'd been told to do while he forced her body to yield to his invasion once, then again when he gathered her legs over his elbows, which drove him just that much deeper.

She groaned deliciously as he filled her, while still writhing like a pinned butterfly as he began to take his pleasure of her, which took an embarrassingly short amount of time, despite how valiantly he tried to hold himself back.

He simply couldn't.

She was everything he wanted.

Everything he needed.

And the tidal wave refused to gather any further.

When he came - when he lost his battle with himself - he bellowed longer and louder than he had at anything - ever - in his life. He felt as if he was pouring his entire self into her, and, for the flash of an instant, he was worried that there wasn't going to be anything left of him when he was done.

But he was wrong.

As utterly exhausted as he was as his own body jerked just as helplessly over her as hers had beneath his lips and tongue, there was _more_ of him than when he'd started.

Because of her.

He had lowered his head to her breasts while his hips were still flexing mindlessly, as if he was never going to stop coming. 

Eventually, he raised his head, noticing immediately that her fingers still had the table in a death grip, and that she looked entirely too tense for someone who had come as hard and as many times as he knew she had.

Although he had never been known as one who put others ahead of himself, with her, he found he couldn't deny the instinct to take care of her that rose overpoweringly within him. He couldn't talk himself out of it, couldn't tamp it down, so much so that he levered himself off of her, leaning over her to gently pry her hands away from the edge, giving a quick massage to each of her clawed fingers, then closing her legs and coming to her side to lift her into his arms.

"No, you mustn't!" she tried to struggle, out of his hold, but he wouldn't allow it. "I'm much too heavy for you!"

He merely chuckled, kissing her cheek and watching the blush rise in it again as she buried her face against his neck. 

He realized that she was crying silently as he took the three long strides to her bed, wrapping them both up under the quilt, completely ignoring the way she was still trying to fight her way out of his arms as she wept piteously at the same time, subduing her gently, slowly, until he had completely robbed her of the ability to move, cocooned as she was by the curve of his body around her.

It seemed he was confronting a lot of unusual things with her, and the display of such raw emotion was so foreign to him that he felt at a loss as to what to do for her, beyond what he was already doing. Loki wasn't in the habit of hanging around very long after sex - he didn't think anyone he'd been with so far had really expected that he would. 

But he wasn't about to leave her - even if she hadn't been crying fit to rend his heart from his chest, and feminine tears had never done anything for him before other than spur him to leave just that much more quickly.

And he realized that the fact that his usually glib, silver tongue had deserted him was probably a good thing, keeping him from nattering at her to respond to him when she clearly wasn't in a place where she could do that.

So he simply held her, stroking her occasionally, running his fingers through her hair, and pressing soft kisses to her temple. When he felt her relax finally, he turned her towards him, brushing the remnants of her tears away with his thumbs. "I cannot bear to see you hurting. What can I do to make you feel better? Name it, and it is yours."

Loki was horrified that his words inspired a fresh round of tears as she began to withdraw from him, palms pressing against his chest as she did so, shaking her head and whispering, "C -can you m-make it so that t-tonight never happened, please?"

It was one of the few things he couldn't do - and something he wouldn't do even if he could.

"Please?" she begged, leaving him sitting up in bed, watching her, stunned, as her feet hit the floor and she ran to the bathroom, locking the door behind her to slide to the floor next to the tub, feeling strangely comforted by its cool disdain, shrugging into the slightly damp nightie that was hanging there and huddling herself into the smallest ball of misery possible.

Loki stood at the door, putting his hand up to touch it delicately, as if it was her, surprising himself by hesitating for a long second before he morphed himself through it.

She was on the floor, wedged tightly against the tub, all peaks of enticing flesh through waves of hair, obviously wishing she was invisible, that she could - as she'd asked him to - take it all back - to eradicate what had been the greatest experience of his life.

He lowered himself elegantly to the green tiled floor, near her but crowding her as little as was possible - it was a small room and there were few choices for a man of his size. But he was perhaps three feet away from her, somehow intuiting that crowding her was the last thing he should do at this moment.

"Did you really think that I would let you get away from me that easily?" he whispered softly. "That a locked door would keep me from you?"

Nothing - no response - but then, he hadn't really expected anything.

He moved himself a few inches closer.

"Would it have stopped your husband from getting to you?"

He saw her flinch as if he'd struck her.

"I think not," he continued. "He adored you. Everyone knew it. You were his sunrise and his sunset, and he yours."

"You are _not_ him!" she croaked accusingly, against her better judgment.

Loki smiled to himself, feeling for the first time that things might work out between them. 

"I know that I could do much worse than aspiring to be like him, though. But you're right. I am not your husband." He thought briefly of offering to change his physical appearance, to look like him for her, but quickly decided against it. He wanted her to want him, not a semblance of her lost love. "And, although I know powerful magic, and I am a God, I cannot reverse time - for you or me or anyone else. It is beyond my capabilities, and I think that - although you might not agree at this moment - that is a good thing."

Another small, stealthy movement towards her - close enough that he could reach out and pull her onto his lap, if he had a mind to.

He wanted to, of course, but he didn't.

He did - because he couldn't help it any longer - reach out and rub her back.

"Don't touch me," she hissed, cringing away from him.

His hand kept stroking her tenderly, and it felt much too good for her mental and emotional comfort. Vahnya wished he would go away and leave her alone to drown in her own anguish.

But instead, Loki scooted his butt those last few inches that separated them , so that they were touching.

Her mouth was open to say something, but he said it for her, with a wisdom well beyond his years.

"You have not betrayed him. He was good man, and he loved you above all else. He would have wanted you to be happy, and to live these very important parts of your life, even without him."

She launched herself at him and he caught her claws inches from his eyes. "I will not sit here and listen to you tell me what he was like," she hissed, and didn't say, Because you are eerily right and I hate you for it.

Using his hold on her wrists, he maneuvered her onto his lap, keeping her captive there. "I'm sorry."

She looked surprised, having been gearing up for a fight she knew she'd lose, but that she wasn't about to avoid.

"But am I wrong?"

Was that a growl he heard from her? Loki smiled down at her and that seemed only to enrage her further, but he just tightened his arms and she might as well have been in a straightjacket.

"I know am not," he answered himself. "And I want what he had with you. I want you to look at me the way you did him. I want you to surrender yourself to me as completely as you did him. I want the same things from you that you gave to him."

She gave him her eyes, looking almost frightened.

"You cannot deny that you want me. That I can bring you pleasure. That I would be a good dominant for you -"

"You're much too young!" It was a weak defense and she knew it.

Loki's eyes narrowed. "And that is something that piques your interest, too, is it not?" As he held her still, his hand sought and found what it was looking for - the way her body wept for him, even when he knew she would deny it with her other lips. He looked deeply into her eyes, then, as if he had made up his mind, kissed her hard, saying, "I am not asking. You are mine. You will move into the palace with me."

He rose, taking her with him as if she weighed nothing and walking back to the bed.

"But your Mother - "

"Will be happy that I have found a woman of your caliber and will spend her time telling me not to do something idiotic that will drive you away. I know she already despairs of me ever finding a true mate."

"But I'm too fat - " 

His glare made her silence herself this time. "Did you sense any lack of desire in me when I took you a few minutes ago?"

Her blush was her involuntary reply.

"Good. Then I never want to hear another word from you about that subject," he said with firm finality, standing next to the bed with her in his arms.

"Submit yourself to me," he whispered enticingly, rolling her under him in some impossibly graceful move as he laid her on the bed beneath him. "It is the only way. I am a greedy, spoilt young man and I am used to getting my way. I will never give up, I will never relent, and I will never, ever let you go."

Vahnya bit her lip as he held his breath and waited for her answer, knowing the things he had said to her were more truthful about him than he had ever been with anyone.

When it came, he felt as if he was stepping into the sun for the first time.

"Yes," she whispered, more tentatively then he would have liked.

But she _had_ said yes, and he wanted her madly enough that he would take it any way he could get it.

"You will never regret it," he promised, then pulled away from her a little and gave her a stunningly sly smile. "Well, perhaps not never, exactly . . . "


End file.
